


Rat King

by unrivaled_tapestry



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chess, Eventual Foursome, M/M, Murder, Murder Mystery, Swordfights, Well...until the murder, established relationships - Freeform, polycule
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:20:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28496709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrivaled_tapestry/pseuds/unrivaled_tapestry
Summary: In the first major test of a peaceful Fodlan, the most powerful people on the continent gather at a castle in northern Gautier in order to help negotiate a lasting treaty with an ambassador from Sreng. However, a shocking murder late one night throws the fate of the summit into doubt. It falls to Hubert, Ferdinand, Lorenz, and Claude to discover the secrets of Castille Glace before an even more horrifying tragedy occurs, one that will shake a fragile, hard-won stability.And perhaps untangle the intricacies of their newly shared relationships along the way.
Relationships: Claude von Riegan/Hubert von Vestra, Ferdinand von Aegir/Claude von Riegan, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra, Ferdinand von Aegir/Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan/Hubert von Vestra, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 8
Kudos: 38





	Rat King

**Author's Note:**

> It's here! If you've been on Twitter and seen me talking about "Murder Mystery Polycule," this is it! This is the fic I absolutely was not going to write before it proceeded to ceaselessly and unexpectedly demand my attention.
> 
> Thank you to Goop who beta'd this and said some VERY ENCOURAGING THINGS about this niche project.
> 
> A quick note on the setup:  
> \- It's an Everybody Lives AU  
> \- All relationships in the polycule will be addressed, but they are not all necessarily at the same level of intimacy at the start  
> \- Side ships will be indicated in the author's notes as they appear  
> \- As will additional warnings  
> \- *stares at that Major Character Death warning* I promise that the main polycule will be safe, but a heads up that there is death in the fic
> 
> A couple content notes for the first chapter:  
> \- Involves a description of extended travel in very cold weather  
> \- Has a scene of an abusive father being abusive in pubic after drinking  
> \- Some alcohol use in the first chapter

Castille Glace in northern Gautier lived up to its somewhat unimaginative name, as most of the year saw the high towers and courtyards covered in snow. The structure had been built into a lethal cliffside of equal parts ice and rock, with the mountain range scraping at the sky to the right and a forest of short trees off to the left, at least when oriented from the bridge that brought travellers from the Fraldarius road to the ancient watchtower of the margraves.

Only one small trail led down to the snow-covered pines below, and as Ferdinand and Hubert arrived on horseback with the first part of the imperial retinue, he’d been able to glimpse servants scaling the frozen trail. It didn’t seem possible until they’d rode closer and spotted the series of ropes and pulleys each man and woman was belted to. They were also all armed with a sturdy metal pick, which was used for tapping into the cliffside to stabilize both themselves and the packs of firewood on their backs.

It seemed inhumane, but Ferdinand wasn’t likely to open his mouth to comment since it might reveal how much he shivered. As they had left chilly climes for frigid for deathly cold, Hubert had gone completely silent as well, though Ferdinand wondered if it was for the same reason. The last time Hubert stalked such deep snows, there had been a war on.

But after three days of slow-going travel in absolute silence, Ferdinand wished Hubert would complain if only to fill the silence of an incoming blizzard.

Ferdinand was more interested in Castille Glace being the northernmost point in Fodlan, sitting on a prong of the contested, gray border between Faerghus and Sreng. It had withstood sieges and operated as a base for Fodlander aggression for centuries.

There was bad blood in the snow, with the Gautier family crypt resting on territory Sreng had declared their own for the past five hundred years. Ferdinand would have preferred a different setting for the summit with the Srengi ambassador—not just for the sake of his own southern bones, but because the castle had even recently been a site of conflict. Both King Dimitri and Duke Fraldarius had agreed to the suggestion, but Margrave Gautier quickly shot it down.

However, the large, towy horses they had swapped to in Fraldarius were sure footed and well adapted to the snow. Their borrowed mounts safely carried Ferdinand, Hubert, and Ferdinand’s staff across a salted bridge. As the castle gates opened, Ferdinand watched Hubert, who rode with one hand and had his attention firmly on the crossbowmen stationed on either side of the wall.

Ferdinand licked his chapped lips, tasting blood as a cold wind caught his cloak and whipped it around his face.

His mount snorted loudly, lurching forward and into the courtyard.

The second they were behind the walls, Ferdinand nearly felt dizzy without wind buffeting his ears, and even the clatter of ten sets of hooves and a handful of complaining Adrestians sounded quiet in comparison.

The courtyard itself was wide and stone, framed on all sides by the body of the castle proper and four high towers with sharp, peaked rooftops and mounds of snow on each one. Ferdinand hopped from his horse and swiped away frost from his brow and eyes. Next to him, Hubert did the same as a handful of household attendants in dark garb moved to collect their steeds.

At the top of the staircase leading to the heart of the castle, Duke Rodrigue Fraldarius waited.

As Ferdinand approached, he peeled off his fur hat and waved with his weapon arm in greeting.

“Welcome, Prime Minister.” Duke Fraldarius offered a stately smile, which flickered away as soon as Hubert came into step behind Ferdinand. “Minister Vestra. I trust your journey was swift and safe?”

Ferdinand grinned out of habit, further splitting his lips before he’d realized what he’d done. “All thanks to the fine horses you offered to let us borrow.”

“You honor me. They are humble beasts—not like your Adrestian Thoroughbreds—but no steed is better suited to these mountains.”

“I wouldn't have dreamed of it!” Ferdinand exclaimed, momentarily taken by the thought of trying to maneuver a fine-boned racehorse through the treacherous mountain pass.

As Duke Fraldarius turned to show them inside, Ferdinand stepped up within whispering distance. “What is the Margrave’s mood, would you say?”

“Well, Ambassador Ahlgren has been here a full day and no wars have been started.” Duke Fraldarius paused, thin mouth going thinner as he buried his hands in his open, teal sleeves. He glanced briefly back to Hubert, too slowly not to be missed. “But if I were you, I would avoid any margraves until the festivities tonight. Just to be safe.”

“Understood.” Ferdinand let out a tightly held breath. “Is Felix here? I would like to say hello.”

Duke Fraldarius shook his head, and Ferdinand caught a nervous set to his shoulders—more hesitation than thoughtfulness. “Not yet. He’ll be travelling as part of His Majesty’s honor guard after the Emperor arrives in Fhirdiad.”

Ferdinand nodded along, even as he caught the sad, proud timbre entering Fraldarius’s voice.

All Fodlan knew what happened the last time a Fraldarius son travelled with a royal Faerghan entourage.

Ferdinand opted to step past the moment. “What about Sylvain?”

“He is here.” Duke Fraldarius’s eyes narrowed, and he further dropped his voice as they passed two guards in the hallway. “Though if you were expecting him to have a calming effect on the margrave...Well, there’s still time. Lady Gwenhwyvar and Lord Itha have arrived as well.”

At that, Ferdinand started. Gwenhwyvar’s presence made sense as a formality—her county’s fishing industry supplied vital, cheap protein that had supported northern Faerghus for a long time. He knew more about Krom Itha’s late father, but the son was a mystery to him, as was his reason for being present at a peace summit.

“Lord Krom Itha? Here?” His voice went a little higher with the question than he intended.

Duke Fraldarius sighed. “The Ithas have been Gautier bannermen for a century, and Krom made a name for himself helping the Margrave secure the border during the war while most of our forces were directed south.” His tone, always even, darkened somewhat. “He does not officially have a word on the terms of the treaty, but his service earned him an invitation regardless.”

As they walked, Ferdinand continued to warm his gloved hands by rubbing them together and breathing on them.

This was news to him, and it did not bode well. However, he supposed the presence of a few trusted men who would also serve to antagonise the Srengi delegation was the least he could have expected. He made a note to ask Hubert what he knew about Krom Itha once they were settled in their chambers.

When he next opened his mouth, he struggled not to sound too eager. “Have Duke Riegan and Count Gloucester arrived yet?”

“Not yet, I believe there was a blizzard at the port that grounded the Archduke’s wyverns.” His brow dipped thoughtfully. “Though he is supposed to be arriving tonight.”

Ferdinand squared his shoulders and tried to hide his relief behind a professional acknowledgement. At least there would be some friendly faces there, other than his own and Hubert’s. He took in a breath. All around them, the hallways bustled with servants bearing decorations and filling any number of fireplaces with fresh wood. Every room had a hearth in Castille Glace. However, at least that meant they were only halfway to their quarters and already Ferdinand was tempted to peel off his heavy furs. Behind him, Hubert had already done so, and he carried his winter coat over one arm as he silently followed.

Ferdinand licked at the thin blood seeping from his lips. “Any advice before we begin?”

As they approached a door at the far end of the hall, Duke Fraldarius paused and turned, glancing between Hubert and Ferdinand. “I’ve seen a harder peace won, but all the most powerful people on the continent being gathered into one place brings risks. My only concern is the security of the summit.”

To his credit, he did not look pointedly to Hubert for a fourth time, though a tendon tightened in his neck.

Ferdinand inclined his head. “And you have everyone’s thanks for that, especially mine. This would not have been possible without the support of House Fraldarius.”

Duke Fraldarius offered a tired smile. “Please don’t thank me yet, Prime Minister.” He turned to leave. “My advice is to be careful. If you’ll excuse me, I must go make sure the margrave hasn’t started on the champagne yet.”

“Nor Sylvain on the ambassador’s daughter?” Hubert droned from behind Ferdinand. It was unclear if Duke Fraldarius heard or not, his footsteps carrying him quickly down the hallway.

Ferdinand injected as much reproach as possible into the glare he gave Hubert, mouthing _Really?_ over the sound of the old doorframe fighting him.

Hubert smirked, though the pink, peeling tip of his nose perhaps took away most hints of a sardonic threat.

As he stepped into their suite, a wave of heat from the fireplace brought a little life back into his cold-bruised cheeks. Ferdinand ran a hand through his hair, damp from sweat and three days bundled in the warmest clothes, head still spinning with the information Duke Fraldarius had provided. Though the Duke had spoken frankly before, Ferdinand could see the strain that holding the summit together was taking. He was one of Fodlan’s few remaining elder statesmen, but he seemed to have aged ten more years in two weeks than he did in five years of warfare and five of peace.

Just how badly was the margrave behaving?

Ferdinand pinched the bridge of his nose.

Just what was he getting them all into?

He was nearly caught by surprise when Hubert slunk up behind him to take the coat from his shoulders. As he did, his lips brushed the skin at the side of his neck, just above a collar crumpled from days shoved under heavy clothes.

“Should I draw you a bath?”

Ferdinand shook his head. “I am not sure I have time. I must review my notes—”

“Then I will read them to you.” Doubtlessly with a few helpful embellishments from his intelligence reports. “I know you want to look your best.”

Ferdinand sank back into him, minding how travel-worn they both were.

Officially, he was there as Edelgard’s eyes and ears, but unofficially...

Ferdinand was glad to have him there.

“All right, you have convinced me.” He turned to face Hubert, until his hands captured the lapels of Hubert’s vest. Hubert smiled, highlighting how frayed and gory his own lips were.

When Hubert bent down to kiss him, Ferdinand relaxed for the first time in days. And, he suspected, for the last time in days.

Festivities were an unconventional way to open a summit, but Hubert approved more or less. Dignitaries were still arriving, and people were sometimes more agreeable to one another after sharing food. Taking an assemblage of old enemies and locking them in an icy death trap was a risky proposition under any circumstances, and Hubert recognized the need to ease tensions.

Hubert hung towards the back of the large dining hall, swirling a full glass of sparkling wine that he would occasionally lift to burn his lips. After Ferdinand had dressed and taken a few deep breaths, he decided to head down early to introduce himself to the Srengi ambassador. Hubert washed quickly and selected a simple black coat, white shirt, black pants, and black shoes—it was formal wear by the strictest definition but austere enough to let him vanish in a crowded room. Most didn’t notice him lurking, and those that did avoided him.

Freed from the burden of interaction, he watched.

Mostly he watched Ferdinand, who was seated at the largest table talking to a tall man with braids and yellow beard. Ragnar Ahlgren, an accomplished general who took the field with his soldiers. His two living adult children accompanied him. They were just as tall and blond as he was, with Vidar—the son—seated to the right and Maja—the twin sister—seated next to him. If either of them had a war record, Hubert was unaware of it, though he knew the ambassador’s eldest son had died in a border skirmish some years ago.

Sylvain Gautier had, predictably, seated himself next to the sister and kept trying to engage her in conversation between taking gulps of mead. Though Hubert was relieved to see her only barely responding, instead trying to lean across the table to hear what Ferdinand was saying. Hubert found this impulse to be one he understood.

At the far end of the table a woman in an evening dress was well into her allotment of beverages for the night, to the point where her attendant was permanently fixed next to her in case she should need assistance. Lady Gwenhwyvar’s reputation preceded her, and she seemed more interested in deepening the flush on her rouged cheeks than in the discussion at the table. Hubert’s network had reported nothing more than he witnessed, and so he cast his gaze further about the room.

At the far corner, chatting with his own retinue and occasionally warmly dragging the serving staff into the mix, Hubert spied Lord Krom Itha.

He hadn’t requested a report on Itha specifically, simply because it was so unexpected for him to be present. The man was well built, with a short but muscular frame capped with long dark hair pulled into a horsetail. Unlike nearly everyone else in attendance, he wore a dress uniform lined with furs and badges, rather than garb of peacetime. He drank, but not too much. He laughed with those he was surrounded by, but not too loudly. Occasionally, Hubert caught his keen eyes scanning the room and made no effort to pretend he wasn’t watching.

Of all those in attendance, Hubert found him most unsettling; partly because his attendance was a surprise, and partly because Hubert’s people had a hard time gathering information so far up north. But his general countenance reminded Hubert of his own late father, which made anyone a beacon of suspicion.

All he knew for sure was that the man was an accomplished soldier with a passion for hunting.

Lastly, Margrave Gautier was slumped in his chair at the head of the table, holding a foul expression under his dark red beard as he angrily drank another glass of wine. Next to him sat Duke Fraldarius, doing his best to talk to the margrave privately, as if to draw his eye away from Ferdinand and the Srengi ambassador.

That settled badly in Hubert’s stomach. He liked the idea of Ferdinand sharing a table with the margrave as much as he liked the idea of his lover being seated next to a barrel of Morfis Fire and a lit fuse.

He took just enough of a sip of wine to sour his mouth.

Then he saw something odd.

One of the side doors to the dining hall was cracked open, enough to pull the flames of the lit candelabras in the direction of the colder air. Shouldering in was a girl of about ten, in a fine little blue woolen dress and a furred cloak. Like Hubert, she watched the proceedings unnoticed and undisturbed, though she could hardly claim his vantage point. As she leaned further into the room, Hubert could see she had auburn hair tied up in twin looped braids that brushed her shoulders.

Interesting.

“How did I know I’d find you back here looking antisocial?”

Trying not to appear as startled as he was, Hubert glanced over his shoulder to see Claude von Riegan leaning against a nearby wooden pillar, arms crossed, eyes sparkling.

Claude smiled. Hubert scowled.

“I don’t appreciate being snuck up on.” He took a slightly larger sip of his drink.

“I don’t think it can be considered sneaking if you’re at a dinner party.” Claude shifted his hands to his hips and glanced around the room. “Sorry we’re late. What’s the lay of the land?”

“Miserable,” Hubert answered. “It’s more of a drinking party than a dinner party and the margrave is set to explode.”

“Sounds fun. Do you want to take bets on when he’s gonna blow?”

“This summit is already enough of a gamble.” Hubert made a show of checking his pocketwatch. “I was hoping he would wait until after tea, but at this rate I don’t think we’ll make it to dessert.”

Hubert surveyed the room once more, this time to see the room parting for Lorenz and turning to greet him as he entered. The second Ferdinand looked up from his conversation, he beamed, reaching both for Ambassador Ahlgren’s back and out towards the approaching Count Gloucester, as if excited to introduce the two.

It was easy for Hubert to admit why Lorenz garnered such a reaction. He wore a powder blue tailcoat with gold gilt buttons and a white vest, and the sweep of his violet hair looked deliberately shined. It shimmered to the point where Hubert wondered if Lorenz had somehow harnessed faith or reason to polish it, thus saving him from the appearance of having flown through the cold on wyvernback.

Next to Hubert, Claude watched Lorenz enter the fray with his arms crossed. Claude’s brown hair had a windswept wave to it, and his green eyes darted carefully from attendee to attendee.

Lady Gwenhwyvar rose to shake Lorenz’s hand and barely seemed to notice him while Lord Itha stayed near his side of the room with his pack of admirers but kept his attention firmly fixed on the new arrival. Down the table Lorenz was introduced until the proceedings reached Margrave Gautier, who glowered up at the offered hand. Rodrigue quickly interjected, calling on a serving girl to bring more Srengi mead and guiding Lorenz to a seat near Ferdinand.

Ferdinand welcomed Lorenz with a hand on his arm, and Hubert spun the stem of his glass between three fingers.

“Aren’t you going to greet the ambassador, Your Grace?” Hubert mumbled into his drink.

“I introduced myself to him as soon as we arrived,” Claude replied. “I wanted to watch Lorenz work the crowd.”

When Ambassador Ahlgren turned to speak to his children, Ferdinand whispered something to Lorenz, who cracked a smooth smile and subtly lifted a finger in Hubert and Claude’s direction. Claude waved back.

“I don’t see how you could miss it,” Hubert grumbled.

Thinking to check the side door, Hubert saw that the child from earlier was still there. She had even slowly maneuvered her way further inside, with her entire torso now leaning in while her feet stayed glued to the hallway. Her eyes sparkled and were locked curiously on the front of the room.

“Say,” Claude started, “the rest of my retinue is arriving later, so Lorenz and I have the Alliance suite all to our lonesome...”

He trailed off meaningfully from a line of conversation it was unnecessary and inappropriate to complete. Ferdinand and Lorenz hadn’t seen each other in a while, it went without saying that whoever had the larger room would invite the other to stay the night.

Hubert shifted uncomfortably in his shoes. He didn’t want to ask the question irritatingly chewing a hole in his skull, didn’t want to seem overeager.

Claude raised an eyebrow, as if waiting for something.

At the table, Lorenz guided Ferdinand up by the arm and Ferdinand jovially excused himself.

Grinding his teeth, Hubert tried to ignore Claude when he stepped a hair closer, lifted his jaw confidently and said:

“I brought the board.”

A thrill crawled from Hubert’s gut to the back of his neck, and he permitted a smile. He knocked back his head and downed the rest of his drink.

While they were talking, Ferdinand and Lorenz had made their way across the room. They’d paused, spoken to a few outlying guests, but they’d kept moving onwards as if they were being magnetically drawn to the shadowy spot behind the pillar.

“I should have known I’d find you both lurking back here.” Ferdinand’s face was flushed and his voice had a crackle to it from hours of talking, but his smile was genuine and the warmth in his eyes was unmistakable. First in a friendly way at Claude, and then more deeply at Hubert.

Claude placed a hand over his breast in mock affront. “You wound me, Prime Minister. The grandson of the former Duke Riegan, _lurking_.” He straightened his back. “I’m merely resting after my long journey.”

Lorenz, who trailed behind Ferdinand, let his face fall the second he was out of sight from the rest of the crowd. _Now_ Hubert saw a man who flew eight hours and barely missed a beat before getting dressed for dinner. “I fear my legs will fall off if I sit a second longer, and if I have another thing to drink, I’ll be sleeping on the floor.”

“You might have to fight Lady Gwenhwyvar for the honor,” Claude answered, the smallest cringe pulling at the corner of his lips.

“I was hoping there would not be any duels before the summit even began,” Ferdinand replied, and Hubert watched him glance between the three of them. “Surely it would be...appropriate to retire soon?”

Hubert didn’t know if the question was directed towards him or Lorenz, so he chewed on his teeth instead.

“That would be lovely.” Lorenz smiled that same smooth, porcelain smile and swiveled to Claude. “Claude, surely Ferdinand could…?”

“Way ahead of you.” Claude mimed a firing crossbow bolt with his index fingers. “I asked them to make up all the rooms.”

“Wonderful!” At Ferdinand’s look of confusion, Lorenz leaned into him. “We have the entire Alliance suite to ourselves for now. You could even spend the night if you so wished.”

Ferdinand’s expression shifted side-to-side in deliberation. “I would hate to intrude, dar— _Lorenz_.”

“Please, I insist.” Lorenz airily waved a hand. “I hear it’s the warmest of the castle’s guest rooms, and there’s space enough for all of us.” He hesitated. “Of course, only if you wish to join, Hubert.”

“I have been invited,” Hubert answered evenly, “and the invitation has been accepted.”

Lorenz’s face lit up in a way that had to be affected, though Hubert appreciated the effort.

Ferdinand animated. Though he leaned in closer to Lorenz, he kept his eyes on Hubert. “Well then, we will just wish the others goodnight and—”

“YOU ARE A DISGRACE!” A roar came from the head of the room, accompanied by the sound of a large metal plate clattering onto the hardwood and skidding a few feet like a discus.

Hubert’s attention went to the table, where he saw Margrave Gautier on his feet. His red hair and beard seemed damp with spit or sweat, and he pointed an accusing finger at Sylvain, who had risen to his feet to meet whatever storm he was being faced with. Ambassador Ahlgren’s brood had stood up and fled the table, while Ahlgren himself remained seated and kept drinking his mead. Rodrigue was up and had his hand on the margrave’s arm as if to hold him back.

“ _Five minutes_.” Ferdinand let out a tight breath. “I leave for five minutes and—”

“Margrave,” Sylvain said, keeping his voice level but loud enough to be heard afar, “if you want to berate me, perhaps we should relocate first and just _say_ it happened in front of the guests?”

“Again with your smart tongue, and I’m sick of it! I’m sick of looking at you and watching you shirk your duties. Disrespect your _name_. Play along with this— _wretched joke_!” Margrave Gautier flung his arms onto the table once more, dragging the cloth and a handful of dishes. This time a bowl of stew went clattering to the floor, followed by a tray of sprouts and a bread basket.

Ferdinand began striding towards the confrontation, hands spread carefully in a peaceable gesture. Hubert was at his shoulder, keeping pace but staying well behind.

“ _Father_ —”

“I don’t even _need_ you anymore,” Margrave Gautier roared. He gestured to Ambassador Ahlgren. “If this one and the Adrestian snakes get their way, Faerghus won’t be needing you anymore either.”

“Please, Margrave Gautier,” Ferdinand stepped in off to Sylvain’s side, not quite getting in the middle but drawing the margrave’s attention to him much like one might draw the eye of a demonic beast, “this behavior is unbecoming and unhelpful. Surely you see that?”

Hubert had paused behind Ferdinand, and saw the moment Margrave Gautier’s ire turned from Sylvain to Ferdinand.

“An Adrestian schoolboy lecturing me about my behavior.” Margrave Gautier started laughing, loudly and specifically in Ferdinand’s face, so much so that Hubert could smell the wine on his breath. “I’m supposed to be impressed at you playing peacemaker, Prime Minister?”

“I do not need you to be impressed by anything,” Ferdinand responded carefully, “but this damages only the name of House Gautier.”

“ _Bah_.” He spat at Ferdinand’s shoes. “I don’t need to take lessons from someone whose head should be on display in Fhirdiad.”

Cold reason already bit at the tips of Hubert’s fingers. He tested shifting them one by one in his gloves, like the movements of a piano scale, _hoping_ Margrave Gautier might move forward with his threat, so that Hubert might drive a javelin of dark magic right through—

“That is quite enough.” And just like that, Lorenz had stepped between Ferdinand and the margrave, wretchedly placing his back squarely in the path of Hubert’s readied spell.

Hubert’s wrist twitched in frustration, hurriedly dissipating the chill from his fingers. He settled for glaring at the back of Lorenz’s head.

Whether or not Lorenz had scented the reason in the air determined whether that had been a dangerous decision or just a stupid one.

The margrave laughed again, then spun around with wide arms to address the rest of the party. “You see the disrespect shown to me, in my own home?” He swallowed, swayed. “By my own _son_?” He gestured back to Sylvain, and then to the ambassador. “You will _all_ see.”

He staggered away, a wild mantle of fur turning to face any partygoer that dared reach to him, much like one of the snarling wolverines stalking the snows of northern Faerghus. No one uttered a sound for fear he might turn his wrath towards them next.

As he stumbled out, he slammed the main door shut behind him, the sound booming through the enclosed space.

When the echo faded, the only sound in the room was the crackles of the great fireplaces on either end.

Finally, Ambassador Ahlgren placed his drink down on the distressed table, wiped his face with a cloth, and looked over the edge as he said, “What a waste of good soup.”

A round of nervous laughter echoed through the hall, and the tension left Ferdinand’s shoulders. He stepped up to the ambassador, presumably to ease any remaining tensions. Sylvain had reclaimed his seat, head in one hand as if fighting off a ruthless headache. Rodrigue went over to him, but was waved away.

Hubert cast about the room, over the destroyed food, past the audience, until his gaze landed on the side door where he’d seen the girl child from earlier.

He looked just in time to see the door gently click shut.


End file.
